The air buzzed with excitement, and murmurs of approval washed through the crowd the moment the curtain separated. One by one, the models strutted down the runway, fierce expressions on their faces. Costello's clean lines and tailored cuts were the picture of elegance, and I saw several heads nodding their approval. In contrast, Daisy's models looked flirty, fun, and casual, causing smiles to ripple through the audience.
In addition to Daisy's funky prints, her current line featured a diamond shaped cutout in the back of each outfit as a signature look that tied her wacky collection together. She had also paired each outfit with long, elegant gloves and a wide brimmed felt hat—adding to the eclectic vibe. If I didn't know better, I'd say that Daisy's collection was almost mocking Costello's—taking a jab at traditional sophistication.
Either way, the effect of the juxtaposition of their styles was lively and entertaining, offering something for every taste. I held Ava's hand as I watched several women point out the jewelry to their companions. I hoped they were making notes to purchase after the show.
The whole spectacle was over much too soon, ending with Gia, bursting through the curtain right on cue. I let out a sigh of relief as she sashayed onto the runway in a long, flowing gown that billowed beautifully behind her. I heard a collective gasp from the crowd, followed by applause. At least some of which I hoped were for the stunning necklace showcased in the scooped neck design of the dress. I had to admit, the way the light reflected off the emerald was almost magical.
I lifted my camera, taking several pictures that I knew Ava could use on her social media pages to draw in clients not in attendance at the actual event.
"She looks gorgeous," I whispered to my friend.
Ava squeezed my hand, her eyes not on the runway but on the crowd's reaction. "Let's hope they all think so too."
"They will," I promised. I gave her a grin and squeezed back.
As the show came to a close, all of the models joined Gia on the stage, and Costello and Daisy both made the walk down the runway to thunderous applause.
"Thank you all so much for coming to support such a worthy cause," Costello said into a microphone as he reached the end of the runway. "We hope you've enjoyed the look at our latest collections and will bid generously in the auction to follow the reception."
More applause followed as Costello did a deep bow and Daisy curtsied.
"And," Costello added, straightening up again, "we would both like to thank Ava Barnett of Silver Girl for the loan of the magnificent jewelry you've seen our models wearing today, all of which will be available for sale in her shop downtown and online." He blew a kiss in Ava's direction, and I felt her relax beside me for the first time that day.
She smiled and waved as the eyes of the crowd went her way.
"Advertising doesn't get better than that," I mumbled to her.
"Let's just hope the sales follow," she said. But the smile on her face looked much more optimistic.
As the designers and models left the stage, we waited a few minutes for the crowd to thin out. Guests slowly rose from their seats, making their way toward the lounge where a cocktail reception preceded the live auction. If there were two things the Links Club set enjoyed, it was spending money and drinking. Tonight I hoped they indulged in both.
I hoisted my bag onto my shoulder, and we followed the crowd to the brightly lit lounge, where servers in the blue polos bearing the club logo were already circulating the room with trays of red and white wine. I snagged a couple glasses of white from a passing waiter, handing one to Ava as we made our way through the crowd.
"This is well deserved," I told her. "Cheers to a great show."
She took the glass, clinking gently against mine. "Thank you. I couldn't have done it without you."
"You could have," I argued. "But it wouldn't have been nearly as much fun."
She laughed. "Agreed," she said, taking a sip from her glass. "Let me go collect the jewelry and get it in the safe, and then we can really celebrate."
"I'll help," I offered, following her toward the hallway that led to the Grand Ballroom.
The mood backstage was even more celebratory than the one in the lounge, the collective breath everyone had been holding now exhaled on a successful finish. We passed a few models heading toward the lounge—changed from their designer duds into street wear. I didn't see Daisy or Costello anywhere and assumed they were likely in the lounge chatting up their designs pre-bidding. Several of the crew seemed to have dispersed already as well, a couple makeup artists cleaning up brushes and models lingering as they changed into lower heels.
The Silver Girl jewelry the models had shed was laid out on a low table near the back wall. Ava made quick work of putting each piece back into the velvet lined box she'd brought it in and checking it off her inventory list. A few were still unaccounted for as we began, but they trickled in as she packed pieces away until almost every velvet lined box was full.
"Just one piece left," Ava finally said, looking up from her list. "Gia's emerald."
I glanced across the room to the closed dressing room door bearing her name. "Well, she took her time getting ready. Maybe she's just as slow undressing."
Ava picked up the last box, a large, square one. "Think we should rush her? I'd really feel better once this is all locked up in the club safe."
"It is your necklace," I pointed out.
Ava nodded, and I followed her to the starlet's dressing room door, where Ava rapped sharply. "Gia?" she called.
No response. We waited a beat, but I heard nothing on the other side of the door to indicate that she'd heard us.
Ava tried again. "Gia? It's Ava Barnett—the jewelry designer? I need to lock up the emerald necklace now."
Still nothing from the other side of the door.
Ava pursed her lips together. "Maybe she's not in there?"
I glanced around the largely empty backstage area. "Where else would she be?" I asked.
"You don't think she'd wear the necklace to the reception, would she?" Ava asked.
I shook my head. "She'd know better." As much as Gia had struck me as a diva, she had seemed like a professional on the runway. I couldn't imagine her walking out with someone else's jewelry like that.
"Gia?" Ava tried one last time, accompanied by another knock at the door. When no answer resulted, she put a hand on the knob and twisted it.
She glanced at me. "Unlocked." She pushed the door open.
"Gia, are you—"
But that was as far as she got before her voice froze in her throat, catching and turning into a strangled sort of gasp.
One I echoed as I spied Gia.
She lay faceup on the floor, her long legs crumpled under her at an odd angle, her big brown eyes open and staring at the ceiling, mouth frozen in a grimace of horror as the heavy chain she'd been so artfully wearing earlier sat tightly tangled around her neck.
It was clear why Gia hadn't answered our knock.
Gia Monroe was dead.
CHAPTER TWO
The next few hours went by in slow motion, every minute feeling like it lasted a horrible eternity. Somehow Ava and I had found our voices, our initial shocked gasps turning into screams that were just as reflexive but loud enough to bring the remaining few people left backstage running toward us. Someone had checked Gia for a nonexistent pulse, someone had called 9-1-1, and someone had helped Ava and me to a pair of chairs at a makeup station, where my legs had given out and I'd crumpled into a pile, trying to block out the imagine of Gia's dead body that I feared would haunt me forever.
The two of us had huddled there, holding hands and trying not to let nausea take over, as we'd waited for the authorities to arrive. Which hadn't taken long. A dead body at the most exclusive club in town had the police moving pretty quickly. Uniformed officers were soon swarming the Links, corralling models, guests, and staff alike into small groups to question them.
Ava and I were separated as officers took our statements, her telling her t
ale to a young guy in a uniform that was at least a size too big for him and me to a large woman with a brusque manner who jotted down everything I said into an electronic tablet.
I was just getting to the part where we'd opened Gia's dressing room door when I spotted a familiar face among the growing number of law enforcement.
Detective Christopher Grant of the Sonoma County Sheriff's Violent Crimes Investigations Unit.
His presence shouldn't have come as a surprise—a dead body definitely qualified as a violent crime—but at seeing him, a jumble of emotions hit my stomach, making me feel queasy all over again.
Detective Grant and I had a history that had begun shortly after I'd moved back home to take over Oak Valley Vineyards last year. We'd first met over a dead body in my wine cellar, though more recently our paths had crossed for more personal than professional reasons. In fact, the last time I'd seen him, he'd been half undressed on my sofa and I'd been having fantasies about uncovering the other half. Just when I'd suggested a change of venue to the bedroom, his phone had pinged with an emergency downtown, which had ended those particular fantasies. That had been a couple of weeks ago, and while I wouldn't say I'd mind a repeat, I was never sure how hot or cold things were running with Grant. I knew him well enough to know he lived for the job and everything else was secondary—not a role I was sure I'd enjoy being in long term.
But a girl could still fantasize.
Grant's dark eyes met mine across the room, his jaw tensing beneath the day's worth of stubble that seemed to perpetually cling there. In two quick strides, his long, denim encased legs crossed the distance between us, and he was at my side.
"Emmy," he said, his voice strained as if making an effort to remain neutral. "You okay?"
I nodded, biting my lip to keep the bubble of tears at bay.
"Ms. Oak and the woman over there"—the officer nodded toward Ava—"were the ones who discovered the victim."
Grant's eyes cut to the dressing room door, where several CSI had converged. "How long ago was this?"
The officer consulted her tablet again. "First responder arrived at the scene at seven forty-five."
Grant nodded. "Thank you, Officer Cross. I'll take it from here."
She looked dubious for a moment, but considering he outranked her, she turned her tablet off and walked away, joining another uniformed officer who was talking to Costello and his model, Jada, near the exit.
Grant waited until she was out of earshot before taking a step closer, invading my personal space.
Not that I minded. His warm, familiar presence felt like a beacon of safety in the midst of chaos.
"You really okay?" he said, his voice lower now, more intimate.
Those tears threatened again, but I sucked them down for his benefit, forcing a smile as I nodded again. "I will be."
The corner of his mouth quirked up in a smile, though it was laced with more sympathy than humor. "Good. Can you tell me what happened?"
I sucked in a long breath, trying to filter emotion out of the memory as I relayed the events once again, starting with Ava's jewelry being showcased on the runway and ending with us knocking on Gia's door and finding her body.
Grant listened with his stoic Cop Face in place, though when my voice faltered at the part where we spied Gia with Ava's necklace wrapped tightly around her throat, he reached out and took one of my hands in his.
"She couldn't have been there very long," I finished. "We only waited a few minutes after the show ended to gather up the jewelry."
Grant let his eyes rove the room, and I could see the little hazel flecks in them dancing in a frenzy as he assessed the scene. "According to the stage manager, Gia went straight from the stage to her dressing room."
I glanced at the room where I could see CSI dusting the doorjamb for fingerprints. "Do they know how she died yet?" I asked, halfway hoping he said allergic reaction to champagne or something equally accidental.
Grant didn't answer right away, as if assessing how much to share given my tentative hold on my emotions. But he must have believed the tough façade I was trying to front, as he finally nodded again. "Victim appears to have died of asphyxiation. The ME found ligature marks on her neck consistent with the size and shape of the silver chain she was wearing."
"She was strangled with Ava's necklace?" I asked, trying not to picture it.
"We'll know more after a formal autopsy. But, yeah, it appears that way." He paused, and I could see him holding something back.
"What?" I asked.
He cleared his throat, his eyes going to a spot over my head.
"Grant," I said. "What is it?"
"Witnesses said the necklace contained a large emerald stone. Is that correct?"
"Yes," I said slowly, not sure where he was going with this.
"Did Ava have it insured?"
"Insure—" His meaning hit me. "Oh no. Don't tell me…"
"It's gone."
I felt my heart sink into my stomach. "Gone? What do you mean, gone!?"
"I mean, the gem is missing from the pendant."
"Are you sure? Maybe it just fell out. There must have been a struggle, right?"
Grant gave me a look like I was being naïve, but to his credit he didn't voice the thought. "CSI has been over the room. There's no sign of it."
"Does Ava know?"
He shook his head. "Not yet. I take it the stone was valuable."
"Yeah. At least a hundred grand valuable."
His eyebrows went up into his hairline. "That's quite a necklace."
"Ava made it especially for the show. She wanted to wow the Links set," I said, glancing to my friend. This was going to devastate her. Like most small business owners, I knew Ava's profit margins were small. It wasn't like she had ample funds to cover this sort of loss.
"What time did you say you knocked on Gia's door?" Grant asked, pulling a worn notebook and pen from the pocket of his blazer, clearly preferring the old-school style of note taking.
I tried to think back. "I'm not totally sure. I know that after the show, we waited a minute for the crowd to thin out. Then we stopped at the lounge to grab a glass of wine. Once we came backstage again, Ava cataloged all the jewelry on the back table, but it didn't take her very long. It couldn't have been more than half an hour after the show ended."
"And who had access to this area?" he asked, gesturing around him.
"Well, the models, of course. The designers—Daisy Dot and Carl Costello." I nodded toward the exit, where Daisy had joined Costello and Jada as officers took down all of their statements. "And there were makeup artist and hairdressers and a bunch of club employees working to manage the show." I paused. "But it wasn't like anyone was checking credentials at the doors. It was just a charity show."
"No security?" he asked, eyes going to me.
I shook my head. "Just the regular club security guards, I guess." Which had seemed like enough at the time. The Links was a members-only club with a hefty price tag and a staff of gatekeepers whose sole job was to keep out the riffraff. As I well knew—having been that riffraff trying to get in on occasion myself. "You don't think a club member killed Gia for the necklace, do you?" I asked.
"I wouldn't want to speculate on who. But I think we're looking at a pretty clear case of a robbery gone wrong."
I shook my head. "Look, I know a hundred grand is a lot of money in my world, but I'd bet half the women in that audience were wearing that much themselves. Have you seen some of those rocks?" I asked, wiggling my own bare left ring finger.
Grant grinned. "I have."
"I can't see one of them committing murder for that little."
Grant didn't concede my point, but he didn't argue it either. "You didn't notice anyone backstage who seemed out of place?"
I shook my head. "I mean, there were a lot of people here. It was busy. A little chaotic."
"What about at the runway show? Anyone seem to pay particular interest to Gia or the necklace?"
I
thought a moment, but really, that had been the point of the necklace. "Everyone did." I shrugged. "Sorry. But it was the finale piece. It was supposed to get everyone's attention."
"Well, it certainly got someone's," Grant mumbled, putting his notebook back in his pocket.
I felt my gaze darting around the backstage area again, suspicion suddenly filling me as my eyes went from one person to the next. "You don't think the killer is still here, do you?"
"Not likely," Grant said. "If they were after the gem, I doubt they'd stick around. We're checking everyone for any sign of it before they're cleared to go just in case, but my guess is whoever did this had a clear exit strategy."
Which should have made me feel better, but it was little comfort, given the situation.
"I'm going to be tied up here for a bit," Grant said, some of the cop slipping from his tone, his eyes softening. "You want me to have an officer drive you home?"
I shook my head, trying to put on that brave face again. "No. I came with Ava. We'll be okay getting back on our own."
While I could sense hesitation in his warm brown eyes, he nodded. "Okay. Call me if you need anything."
"I will," I promised.
He gave my hand one last comforting squeeze before he turned and melted into the crowd of law enforcement surrounding the crime scene.
* * *
An hour later, Ava and I were settled on the worn sofa in my living room, our heels kicked into a discarded pile beside my camera bag, an open bottle of Pinot Noir on the table between us, and two slices of Flourless Chocolate Cake with Mocha Whipped Cream from the local bakery, The Chocolate Bar, on paper plates. Though, the comfort food wasn't entirely doing its job, Ava's face having been etched into a permanent frown ever since she'd found out that her emerald was not only missing but also likely the reason a woman had been murdered.
"You know it's not your fault," I said for about the hundredth time since we'd pulled up to the winery.
Ava nodded. "If only we'd put the necklace away sooner. I should have gone after that piece first."
I shook my head. "If someone was really after the gem, there's nothing you could have done differently."
Fashion, Rosé & Foul Play (Wine & Dine Mysteries Book 6) Page 2